


A Confused Knight

by Liadt



Category: Adam Adamant Lives!, The Avengers (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Gen, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:37:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4291101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/pseuds/Liadt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma has time to kill and Adamant gets a haircut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Confused Knight

“I’m worried about Adamant,” said Steed, putting the telephone receiver down. He was sat in an armchair in his flat.

Emma came into the living room carrying a tray of tea things. “What is it, Steed?” she said, her voice full of concern. When Steed was serious it was time to worry.

“The Minister of the Other Department has sent Adamant to investigate Ramsey’s Wood-yard and he hasn’t reported back. I have a feeling I should check he’s all right.”

“A knight in shining armour for a knight in shining armour and no damsel to save. Very progressive” said Emma, sitting down on the settee, putting the tray on the coffee table and pouring the tea.

“Progression will have to wait. I must be at the Saudi embassy in an hour to protect the new Prince as he visits his far-flung subjects. As valuable as Adamant has been in protecting our Country, his life doesn’t hold the same value as a Prince’s.”

Emma drained her cup of tea, thinking the problem over. “I have the afternoon free. A damsel for a knight?”

“Weren’t you born a Knight?” said Steed referring to Emma’s maiden name. “I’d be grateful if you could go as soon as possible. If you don’t return I’ll pay a visit to the wood-yard later, once the Prince has retired to his penthouse suite.” It wasn’t that Steed thought Emma was incapable of handling trouble, but even the most talented operative could meet with disaster.

“I’m off on a quest without my trusty Steed or a damsel in distress to rescue. What sort of fairytale is this?” questioned Emma. She rose from the couch and shrugged on her coat. She had to go to her flat to change into her fighting gear. A bright yellow mini-dress was not suitable for flying kicks. “I’ve always wanted to meet a real gentleman,” she said, conversationally.

“What am I, Mrs Peel?” replied Steed, shocked. “It’s the first impression I give. Apart from the people whose heads I’ve knocked together. They tend to regard me as rather uncouth.”

“Steed, a gentleman does not place his hand on a women’s behind. Especially not one belonging to a woman he’s not married to,” said Emma, sternly. 

“I think you’ll find it’s perfectly acceptable if the lady in question has put her hand on the gentleman’s rear several times previously,” pointed out Steed. He stood up to wave her off.

“Then I shall say ‘Goodbye’ to you,” said Emma, patting Steed on his bottom before leaving the flat.

****

In a darkened corner of a workshop in a timber-yard, Adam Adamant lay chained to a hefty plank of wood. The plank was on a conveyor belt that was slowly inching towards a large, circular saw. He had failed to fight off Ramsey’s henchmen and appealed to Ramsey’s secretary to turn him in. This hadn’t worked either as the secretary had turned out to be his sister and nearly as evil as her brother. He could never believe a member of the fairer sex could be completely wicked though. When he had told them they would burn in hell for their Devil’s work, they had laughed and asked him to send their regards to Satan. Before leaving Adam on his own, Ramsey had switched the circular saw on.

Adam didn’t think the saw was capable of cutting through the bulky chains that held him fast, but unfortunately his head would meet the saw ahead of the chains and his skull would be split in two. He had thought Ramsey would have lingered to gloat over his impending demise and not switch off the light and shut the door. Over the sound of the whirring saw, he could dimly hear the sounds of industry carrying on in the yard. It was as if his presence and attempt to foil Ramsey’s plans barely mattered at all, thought Adam gloomily. Adam then chided himself for his defeatist thoughts. Where there was life there was hope and he resumed his struggle against his bonds. If he could get a limb free, he could hit a leaver or something similar with his toe. If there was only some light to guide him.

As if in response to Adam’s thoughts, the wide doors of the workshop suddenly collapsed inwards as a man in black fell through them. Sunlight flooded in through the gap. Adam narrowed his eyes against the light. Squinting through his eyelids, he tried to see what was happening. Another of Ramsey’s black-clad lackeys followed the first man. A figure dressed in an orange jumpsuit then leap over the fallen duo into a clear space in the workshop. More of Ramsey’s guards pursued the figure. The way the orange fighter fought the guards was most admirable. Adam recognised the technique used as one of the oriental martial arts. As soon as the fighter had taken down an assailant, others piled in to replace their fallen colleague. 

Adam shut his eyes - the sight was horribly familiar. Earlier that had been him in that situation. Adam refocused on his own struggle. It seemed he would still have to rely on himself to escape. The saw’s whirring was so close to his head now he couldn’t hear anything else. Indeed, Adam was sure he could feel the blade begin to slice through the ends of his hair that had flopped over the edge of the plank. Then when he thought his luck had finally run out, the power abruptly cut out and there was nothing but a deafening silence. Adam lifted his head as far as he could to see what had occurred. By the door, there was a mount of unconscious henchmen, further over in the shadows he could make out his saviour’s bright, orange garb. 

“Bravo, Sir! I am in your debt for your timely intervention,” called out Adam. “You have accomplished what I failed to achieve. If you have the time afterwards, I would be honoured if you could teach me something of your effective, oriental, fighting technique.”

“It would be my pleasure. Would sometime next month be suitable? I have an impending deadline for an article and I haven’t written a single word. Fighting diabolical masterminds does eat into one’s research time.”

“Sir - you are a lady!” cried Adam, in surprise. The voice that had replied to him was female and as the figure drew closer he could see her tight-fitting catsuit showed off her feminine form. He had noted his rescuer’s feminine hairstyle during the fight, but he had assumed the current fashion for long hair amongst young men was getting longer.

“I believe I am,” said Emma, giving Adam an amused smile and bent over him to work out how best to release him. “But I have been known to go off the rails, occasionally. There should be some tools here I can use to free you. I’m Mrs Peel, by the way, Mr Adamant.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Mrs Peel. Are you on your own?”

“Yes,” replied Emma, distracted, as she rooted through a toolbox, she had found, on the floor.

“I am surprised your husband would let you face danger alone.”

“He’s missing in the Amazon jungle.”

“I am sorry to hear that. I pray I have not distressed you by bringing the subject up,” said Adam, contrite. 

Emma continued working on the chain’s locks without looking up. “There’s no need to apologise, you weren’t to know.” The last chain clattered over the side of the conveyor belt. “Do you need a hand?” asked Emma, straightening up. “You may be unsteady after being tied up and it is quite a way to the floor.”

Adam felt rather embarrassed by the offer of help. For him it was usually the other way round, when he met a lady in these circumstances. He was confused too - Mrs Peel had the grace and manner of a true lady, but she had also bested a dozen burly henchmen in unarmed combat. Overall, he felt these thoughts would be more likely to make him unsteady on his feet than any physical reason. Mrs Peel’s charming smile persuaded him to take her hand. After all, there was no one else to see and accepting help from this lady could hardly be regarded as unmanly. Adam swung his legs to the floor and stood up - his legs were indeed wobbly. He was going to thank Mrs Peel, but he didn’t get the chance. 

“Mr Adamant - are you here?” shouted Georgie, dashing in to the workshop. “Wow-ee! Look at what’s happened to these blokes, Simms,” she called excitedly, over her shoulder.

Simms walked cautiously into the workshop holding Adam’s sword (which he had found discarded outside) in front of him, in a defensive stance. He knew what kind of excitement was Georgie’s bag. “I told you Mr Adamant would be fine. I could have stayed at home, instead of going on a wild goose chase, said Simms, sheathing the blade, when he found the men were unconscious. 

“But you would have missed all this!” Georgie, flinging her arms out. Her enthusiasm was increasing.

“Precisely,” replied Simms, curtly. 

“You need to live a little.” Georgie wasn’t going to let Simms put a dampener on things.

“I would prefer to live a long time. In addition, what is worse is, if I hadn’t come Mr Adamant’s pheasant casserole would be cooking in the oven. Instead, he will have to have cold cuts for his evening meal.”

“Cold cuts will be fine, Simms,” said Adam, loudly from his position at the back of the workshop. What on Earth would Mrs Peel think of the company he kept?

“Mr Adamant!” exclaimed Georgie and Simms in unison. 

“I couldn’t see you back there,” said Georgie, stepping around the bodies to reach Adam. “Did you bash them all with your bare fists?”

“I did not touch a single hair on their heads, my dear, Miss Jones. The intrepid Mrs Peel here, however, triumphed against these villains.” Adam lifted Mrs Peel’s hand. Emma’s eyes glittered with amusement. 

“Wow-ee,” breathed Georgie, her eyes as big as saucers. “You’ll have to write a limerick about this, Simms.”

“It’s getting to be quite a party in here,” said Emma, as Adam’s friends joined them by the circular saw.

“And I didn’t bring a bottle! Most remiss,” said a cheery voice from the doorway.

“Steed!” exclaimed Emma, as all eyes turned to Steed. “I though you had you hands full with the Prince.”

“The meeting at the Embassy was cancelled. Half the attendees came down with food poisoning, after a traditional banquet in honour of the Prince. I see you have finished for the day too. And I’m pleased to find Mr Adamant in one piece. I know the Other Department will be greatly relieved to hear of your continuing existence, Sir.”

“I thank you for your concern,” replied Adam, inclining his head. He knew Steed was one of the most respected and skilled agents in the Country and was honoured by his interest.

Steed glanced at his wristwatch. “If you’ll allow me, Mrs Peel, I shall take you to lunch at Bertorelli’s, to make up for ruining your schedule for today.”

“Bertorelli’s? They won’t let me in wearing my cat-suit.”

“It’s under new management. Monty Hebden is the new owner,” Steed informed Mrs Peel.

“Hebden the skirt hater?”

“The very same,” confirmed Steed.

“I thought he was in hiding from Mad Jock MacKinlay over his insistence a kilt was a skirt.”

“He is. He’s left his staff to enforce his policy of no skirts, while he suns himself in the south of France.”

“Pity. It was fun to confuse him with culottes.” Emma turned to address the others. “I’m sorry to leave you so soon after meeting, but Bertorelli’s finishes serving at three and the lobster thermidor is not a dish to miss.”

“I pray it will not be long until we meet again,” said Adam kissing Emma’s hand and releasing it.

“I’m sure it won’t. There are only so many diabolical masterminds to go round: there’s bound to be an overlap at some point.” Emma departed to join Steed.

Adam stared a little forlornly as Emma and Steed went off arm in arm. He had been hoping to spend more time in the company of the delightful Mrs Peel. He was having trouble adjusting to the 1960’s. Mrs Peel raised his hopes that there were some real, true ladies left and if they fought like a man, well, he should not be surprised. These were strange times in many ways. 

“Now you know how I feel, with you buzzing off and leaving me after you’ve beaten evil,” said Georgie.

“Mmm?” replied Adam, wrapped up in his thoughts.

“Will you teach me how to fight like Mrs Peel?” asked Georgie. She snatched Adam’s stick off Simms and thrust it at Adam in a mock attack.

“Miss Jones, I have no intension of doing so. You need to keep out of harm’s way,” said Adam, sternly and removed the stick from her.

“Largely for the sake of harm’s health,” muttered Simms.

“Mrs Peel doesn’t,” argued Georgie.

“That is because Mrs Peel is a lady,” returned Adam, firmly and quickly strode off. Presumably Mrs Peel had dealt with the Ramseys, but if that was not the case he still had work to do. 

“Hey! Mr Adamant! That makes no sense,” protested Georgie, chasing after him.

Simms sighed.


End file.
